Kinnetik Reflections
by LibertySun
Summary: Mr. Kinney ponders meaningful milestones. An echoed retelling invoiced through Brian's thoughts. Each Ch. is a separate One Shot. If Brian kept a Journal it might read something like this...
1. The Twinkie Defense

**The Twinkie Defense** (The day after Justin becomes King of Babylon)

What's that Streisand shit Emmet's always babbling about? Don't rain on my parade? This kid's not just raining, he's a fucking monsoon threatening to wipe out everything as I know it. Though, in true Justin fashion he manages to do even _that_ with defiance. He's not raining at all. Instead, the little shit has brought the sun out. His overzealous (downright nauseating) 'sunshiny' rays are boring down on my parade and giving my patrons heatstroke.

What is it about this boy that has everyone so willing to soak up the sun and work on their tan? Yes even you Kinney, better get out your sun block. Fuck. What is going on here? I don't think they make a strong enough SPF to protect me from this one. I am so screwed.

All Hail the mighty King! I'll be damned. The fucking King of fucking Babylon. I can't honestly say that I'm surprised. A room full of horny fags glistening with sweat and reeking of Lust? Of course they'd all want him. What I honestly_ can_ say I'm surprised about, is the fact that it got to me. Wait, wait now slow down Kinney. He didn't "Get to you" per say. No. He just _impressed_ me.

He was in such control. I like control, I feed on it. He had control of every attention span in the goddamn place. Yes, even mine. Failing against self protest, I couldn't look away. He was mesmerizing. I didn't want any of those men looking at him. Even the trick I was (unsuccessfully) attempting to give a shit about, had focused his sights on the hot Blonde practically dry humping the pole on stage. _I_ wanted to be the only one watching the way that fair ivory body moved…Stop it Kinney. He's not my _anything_. I don't need him to try and impress me.

Damn those bastards disguised as my friends, for encouraging Justin this morning to speak of his 'Sexcapades' last night. I didn't want to hear that shit. Hell, I didn't need a rehash, I witnessed it. Once again, he was _so_ in control. I'm not sure why I even paused to watch him so clearly becoming his own man of dominance. He didn't need me. So why did I not move? What was I expecting to get? Him? No. I didn't need him. Yet still I stood there (a bit captivated) watching him frivolously top that insignificant trick. Seeing that, I felt several unidentifiable emotions running a goddamn Olympic worthy relay race throughout my body. No. I don't care. Good for him.

He's become such a strong person. A far fucking cry away from the nervous, inexperienced, starry eyed twat I met under that lamppost. Ah, the meeting to start this whole damn heat wave. When I first laid eyes on him, my initial reaction was 'fresh meat', shortly followed by an unprecedented flat out _need _to have him. A nice little treat for myself.

I can still see the fear and anxiety born in his eyes when he first gazed upon my naked body. His innocence was enlightening, endearing, and hot as hell. I wish I'd never have picked his blonde ass up. Christ. Who am I kidding? It was his _ass_ that got me into this mess to begin with.

This twinkling eyed twink had me betraying myself from minute one. I had told him about losing my own virginity, I had taken him to the hospital with me, I let him name my fucking kid! _All_, I needn't remind myself, _before _we'd even fucked.

I actually took him to school the following morning. I have to admit I still occasionally relish in the humor of that. The ego boost I got from getting someone _so young _was only amplified ten fold when I actually dropped him off at fucking _High School_. Then that asshole jock started giving him shit. Why had I been so quick to jump to his defense? Why Do I still feel the need to cast myself in the role of 'Protector'? Brian Kinney Knight in fucking shining armor? I think not. What is going on here?

Brian Kinney doesn't give a shit about bonding, or the 'feelings' of the latest tryst between his sheets. Why did I find it so ridiculously easy (and begrudgingly necessary) to _talk_ to this kid? There were far better things we could have been doing with our mouths. Why did I care so much to make his first time so memorable? And why, why, _why_, did I say "I love you" when I came? "I love you"? Really Kinney? Never before. Never again.

With mistakes like that, combined with whatever the fuck Anita cooked up, no wonder he thinks he's in love with me. I guess I really can only blame myself. I told him though, he's only a fuck. Right? Right.

Seeing those (downright breathtaking) blue eyes illuminated with the shine of unshed tears when I told him that, I must admit did make my stomach turn. I didn't _want _to hurt the kid. He was pretty sweet. Hell, I actually even liked him. But he had to know that _I_ was absolutely the worst possible thing he could ever want.

I can only be bothered to care about one person. Brian Kinney. I'm as fucked up beyond repair as they come. I couldn't allow myself to damage this innocent, newfound fag of Liberty Avenue. I did the right thing. I pushed him away.

For all the goddamn good it did me. The persistent little fucker just keeps pushing back, and with a force I can't match. He knows just how to get to me.

The first time I thought I was rid of him, there he was, his perky little bottom effortlessly luring my two dance partners (prospected bed partners) away from me. Holy shit, he didn't even have to try. I still get hard just thinking about that night. The glitter of Babylon sensuously accessorizing his creamy skin. He knew _exactly_ what he was doing.

I should have walked away. Picked up one of the countless men who would have undoubtedly been more than eager to be propositioned by one Brian Kinney. Of course, I went against my better judgment. (Yes. I have judgment.) I had to take back control. Control of the situation. Control of Babylon. Control of _him_.

I was rid of him once. Good riddance and all of that. So can someone please explain to me, why I ever went to New York to retrieve him? I should have left him there when I had the chance. Voodoo Marylin said he'd have been successful shaking his ass in Chelsea. Fuck. I didn't want any lust filled queers in Chelsea salivating over him. I don't want any lust filled queers in the Pitts ogling him either. Just me. Get a grip Kinney.

Maybe he _has_ kind of begun to grow on me. I _suppose_ if you like those 'youthful, sexy with a perfect ass & scrumptious lips, hang on your every word, worship everything you hate about yourself, make you laugh with a smile that lights up the fucking night types'. Not that I do.

God. I have even allowed this guy to _live_ with me.(I might make an appointment soon to have my head examined.) I recall his mother dropping his clothes, games, and allergy goddamn medication, off at my office. What the hell?

I wish I could have told her 'Why are you coming to me? I don't know where your son is, nor do I care'. Unfortunately, my apparent mental illness was in full form. He was indeed (as she had guessed) in my fucking kitchen making me fucking jambalaya, or whatever the fuck he cooks.

This fair haired nuisance has managed to insert himself (quite forcefully) into too many aspects of my life. How the hell did I allow this to happen? He's a stubborn son of a bitch. I'll give him that. As Strong willed a man as I have ever met. I think he may even out match me. No. I'm _still_ in charge here.

Admittedly, he has continually shown me just how strong he truly is. I respect him for it. Watching him stand up to his father after he attacked me outside of Babylon. Which mirrored his previous concern for me after his dad rammed my damn jeep. I fucking deserved it. Not that Justin thought so. I remember watching him, somewhat awestricken. Here was this seventeen year old kid, standing up to his dad, telling him exactly who he was and what he thought about it. Something I never was able to do with my own piss poor excuse of a father. Like I said, I respect him.

While I'm on the subject, why does Justin feel the need to protect _me _from trouble_? _If anything I'm the one who threw _his _entire 'white picket fence' life into turmoil. His father was right. I seduced him. Like it or not, I _did_ make him believe that I loved him. So why did he deny that when his father called me out on it? 'He never said he loved me!', Yes I did. Justin Taylor, Knight in fucking shining armor? Perhaps.

After listening to his dad spout his hate filled objection to his sons' 'disgusting lifestyle', I found myself feeling somewhat sorry for him. Not that I'll ever tell him that. He'd kill me for even wasting one ounce of pity on him. He's a spitfire that's for goddamn sure. My little hothead. No. not mine.

Sunshine…what the hell?…I mean Justin, has made himself an ever present staple in my daily routine since that first 'Where are you headed?'. I never should have approached him. Stupid overactive libido.

A one night stand? This has turned into one hell of fucking long night.

What do you think Kinney, time to admit defeat? For now. I just have to accept the fact that he's not going away anytime soon. I'll stop trying so hard to push him away. It's a moot point anyway, and I honestly don't think I have the energy for both _that_ and keeping my stamina up in the backroom.

Besides, having him around isn't quite-exactly-necessarily what I'd call _unbearable_.

So, I've broken my no repeats rule. So what? He's not my _anything_. He's just fucking incredible in bed. He can almost wear me out. I said _almost_. I am practically insatiable for him. No one can fault me for not wishing to trade down to some random sloppy trick from the bowels of Babylon.

I'm _still_ Brian Kinney. Damn it. I'm in _complete_ control. It's not my fault this _particular _twinkie can give one hell of a delicious blow job.


	2. Fatherhood

**Fatherhood** (Sometime after Jack Kinney's funeral)

Well, the son of a bitch is gone. A man whose soul had been diseased with the bitter cancer of hatred for a lifetime, was finally taken by a cancer of actual diagnosis. Kind of poetic if you ask me. Though that's _not _what everyone's been asking me. "Are you OK?" Yeah, that's the question. Of course I'm OK.

The old man and I weren't exactly the 'Ward & Beaver' kind of duo. He never took me to a race track ( those were only for him to attend, as he gambled away our dinner, new clothes, and our solidarity) He never took me on a camping trip, or fishing in a canoe. And we sure as hell never won any goddamn father-son three legged races.

Despite our intertwined DNA threads, the 'man who knocked up Saint Joan' & I were woven from completely different cloths. The most we ever had in common was our distaste for the Kinney household, & our self destructive love of liquor (apparently hereditary on both sides.)

Now, wait a minute. I _guess _you could say we _did_ have a certain rapport. We had our share of intimate moments, me and Ol' Jack. I seem to recall many a time where I became meticulously acquainted with his calloused knuckles.

Jack Kinney's version of 'Hugs & Kisses' usually resulted in a busted lip, or cracked ribs. Ah, yes 'daddy's kisses'. They always left the loathsome taste of crimson iron assaulting my taste buds.

They say olfactory senses can trigger fond memories. Most will think giddily of their childhood of yesteryear with a passing scent of their father's after shave, or the subtle hue of cherry in his favorite pipe tobacco. Not me. Nope. I'm reminded of 'the man who didn't want me' by a more primitive collection of smells. Blood. anger & that delectable mixture of sweat and cheap whiskey that rained from every pore.

He wasn't 'A family man'. No shit. Move the fuck over Cleavers. The Kinney family has arrived. The Asshole, The Ice Queen, & The Brats.

Now I'm no expert when it comes to families, but I'm fairly certain that in order to become a 'family man', the aforementioned man needs to possess a heart.

I remember once, when I was young (maybe seven or eight) I went to My father's Doctor appointment with him. He told me "Sit still Sonny boy, shut your trap & don't fucking touch _anything_." Hell, at least he was talking to me.

During that visit, I kept hoping to catch a glimpse of Ol' Jack's X-rays. I didn't. Not that I'd needed too. I already knew that there was only a vast void of darkness in the space where his heart should've been.

That same evening, he'd stopped off at a bar to drink away my mother, leaving me alone in the parking lot. Eventually I walked home by myself in the rain. Oh, the bonding. Good times.

I never knew that I had a real family until we moved to the Pitts, and I met them.

With Michael's dad too _dead_, and mine too _drunk_ we didn't have much by way of fatherly figures. Vic has always been great. (Damn did he help us out of some crazy fucking jams!) When he started to get sick, we were all scared shitless about losing him. I'm grateful he's decided to put up with us a little longer.

Regardless, we still had the 'Father of the Fucking year' candidate forever huddled in our corner. Debbie Novotny. Christ. The woman has more balls than the lot of us men combined.

Mikey was lucky his dad was already dead. I'd told him as much. At first he was pissed and thought I was being cruel. Those thoughts were quickly amended though, when he was introduced to one Jack Kinney.

'Christ Sonny boy are you sure _that's_ the kind of boy you want to be grouping yourself in with. We just moved here, and that Michael kids' let's face it, he's fucking fruity. You don't want all of these potential new friends thinking you're a goddamn fairy do you?'

Looking back, I wish I would have told him right then & there who I really was. I don't wear 'Cowardice' well, even on _this_ body. What I'd have given for a mere touch of Justin's strength back then. Who I am I kidding, I'd like a touch of his bravery now.

I never told my parents. Never. What the fuck? I'm not ashamed of who I am. Why did I avoid it? So many opportunities. All of them missed.

I've asked myself countless times Why do I even bother? Do I really fucking care? I have the answer to neither question.

Jack's mock pride for his (mockery of a 'successful straight') son was always displayed most prominently whenever he held cold hard cash between his palms. My money. What was I hoping to buy? Acceptance? Apologies? Love? No. Those things were not available for purchase.

When the bastard told me he had cancer I didn't feel sadness. I almost felt absolution. I quickly contemplated if coming out to him was the best thing to do at such a time. It only took me a second to decide once he opened his mouth and whispered his homophobic words through whiskey tinged breaths.

Fuck it. In that instance I _had_ to tell him (If never to tell him anything else) that _his _son was flaming fucking faggot. I felt vindicated.

I swear _right now _(to God or not), that I will _never _let Gus feel afraid to introduce me to his true self. I can't wait to meet the real you one day Sonny Boy.

So here's the deal. I admit I got a little (I will not be using the words _drama_ or _queen_) 'carried a way' shall we say, about this whole Bris business with Mel. It's not that I'm against circumcision. I'm not. He's just so damn young, he's so damn _perfect_. I can't fathom anyone wanting to change him already.

Despite everyone's (namely my own) reservations, I'm going to give it everything I've got to be the father Gus deserves. I may no longer be his legal guardian but he's no less my son. Either way I'll be a far better dad that fucking Pepe' le Pew. What _was_ Lindz thinking there? Anyway.

I'm happy that I was able to let the bitterness burn away & sign him over to Mel & Lindsay. They love him. In a way I'm not sure I can. No. _Let me finish_. In a way I'm not sure i can ..._Yet._ I'm still learning.

Justin says I'm already a great father & that my son is lucky to have me. I only wish I could have as much faith in myself as he_ always _does. I don't deserve it. I don't deserve _him_.

I find myself getting a little confident here regardless. Maybe I _am_ cut out for this Daddy Shit. After all, who'd know better than Justin about my abilities to take care of another life? (My 6th grade goldfish notwithstanding, nothings' ever keeled over on my watch.) He's stayed with me before, & remains as perky & lively as ever. I made sure he studied, I got his ass to school, I fed his little tummy full of food. _Oh, that fucking yummy tummy._ Focus Kinney. Gus.

My son. Wow. I am still getting used to the sound of that. Brian Kinney, Soccer dad? Unfucking-believable, trust me I know. I'm just a shocked as you. Maybe more.

Admittedly, I'd been terrified ever since I gave the munchers' my legendary 'Essence de Kinney' in a jar. Just like that. I handed over my fucking son. My future forever altered, in a goddamn plastic cup complete with tacky blue lid. At least the orderly who 'assisted' me was hot.

I tried my best to avoid Lindsay during her pregnancy, in it's _entirety_. I didn't want to think about it. Out of sight. Out of mind. With my conflicted feelings of disdain and excitement, I learned that nine months isn't nearly as long of a time as I'd so often believed.

Yeah Sonny Boy, you sure did pick a hell of a night to come into my life. The same night _he_ so boisterously urged his way into it. Was that the plan? _Was he your gift to daddy?_ No Kinney.

My son is the greatest gift I've ever received. _Justin Taylor runs a close second._ Stop it.

I have lost count of all of the times I've fucked up in my life. How many times I've hurt others. The number of promises I've broken. None of it matters anymore.

That beautiful child is my apology for it all.

Jack Kinney always told me I'm good for nothing. I have no rationale to belong in this world. Fuck off Pop. I've found it. My inspiration. My purpose. My relevance. It's name is Gus.

I promise Sonny boy, I'll take you to the race track. We'll go on a camping trip. We'll go fishing in a canoe. I swear to it now 'Beaver', we'll win us a goddamn father-son three legged race.


	3. The Night the Music Died

**The Night the Music died** (After Justin's Bashed on Prom night-While he's sitting with Michael, crying in silence)

As I listen to Mikey's breathing beside me, I struggle to hear my own breaths (just checking.) It's possible I may no longer be alive. I've never felt more alone.

No. This did not just happen. Despite my fervent head shaking, the image won't falter. My Fucking God. This is _real_.

My stomach is flipping violently. This guilt is attempting to fully consume me from within. I tried to get to him fast enough. Didn't I? Christ. I can't remember. What If I didn't hesitate or take the time to hit that asshole, maybe... No. I _did _try to stop it from happening. Right? There wasn't anything else I could have done. Right?

This was supposed to be the best night of his life. Of _mine. _At the tailor's this morning getting fitted for my tux, I even briefly toyed with the notion of getting him a boutonniere (Christ. I really am a queer.)

He looked unbelievable tonight.

As soon as he caught my eye on the dance floor, my heart swelled. That smile damn near knocked me on my ass. My breath caught in my throat. _So _goddamn beautiful.

While dancing with him, I was compelled to glance down. I had to be certain we weren't in fact, 'Dancing on air'. So what? I'll admit it. I felt downright damn _euphoric_.

Fucking Hobbs' has taken away so much, but that hateful coward will _never_ be able to take my feelings at _that moment_.

Justin was looking at me like I had just roped the moon and presented it to him.

_Wake up Sunshine, and I'll rope that fucker right now._

I'm still not sure of the exact moment in which I had decided to go, but as soon as I saw his happiness mirror my own, I knew it was the right thing to do.

God. Was it ever the _wrong _thing to do. If I hadn't stepped outside of myself so far as to go to a ridiculous _prom_; he'd still be Justin, in his _entirety_.What have I done? I've broken an angel.

I won't pretend that I don't care. I'm not even going to pretend to be strong. I haven't the strength. Fuck it. OK tears, go ahead and fall.

Where are you Justin? Do you know what your leaving is putting me through here? Come back. _Please. _I 'm lost. Come find me Sonny Boy.

Stop it Kinney. You selfish bastard. This is not about _you_.

A quick flash of him walking away from me, with his promise of 'Later' flutters behind my closed eyelids.

He's not going to leave me. We didn't say Goodbye. He knows that, I saw it in his smile.

It's 'Later' Justin. Time to open up those baby blues.

Despite my best 'foot stomping, inner child pouting' self protest, I can't stop myself from replaying the gut wrenching scene over and over again.

I can hear a voice I don't quite recognize escape my lips. It's screaming his name. I can't ignore the vision of that violent swing. It was _so_ fast. Although I ran, I was helpless. Fucking useless.

It took me what felt like a_ lifetime_, to process what had just happened. Time stopped. The world seemed to canter around me in a blur of emotions.

Instinctively, without a thought, I grabbed the bat and hit that fucking bastard with all that I had. I only wish now, that I would have ensured he never took another breath. With him writhing on the ground (in far less pain than he deserved) I glanced back toward the place where Justin remained motionless.

My heart skipped suddenly, and then again. Thumping faster and _faster_ until I am certain at one point it flew from my chest altogether. Self fulfilling Prophecy? Brian Kinney was left heart_less_.

I gazed at the crumpled, broken body lying lifeless in front of me. I was stuck. Undoubtedly unable to move even an inch. Tears found their way to my cheeks before I even realized they had formed.

Though mere feet separated me from the inevitable heartache that readily awaited me, it felt like miles. Justin appeared to grow increasingly further away from the place in which my feet stood glued to the floor.

I felt light years away from my body. Certainly I was merely watching someone else get completely and utterly shattered to pieces. Trembling, I attempted to go to him and for a moment, forgot how to walk.

Too many thoughts raced through my mind though none were polite enough to stay. I inhaled deeply .

Gathering every ounce of strength I had (which was nearly nonexistent) I proceeded towards an unmoving Justin Taylor.

I lifted his head, and saw the crimson love escaping him. The warmth of the blood was in vast contrast to the stark coldness of the cement.

I felt a piece of my soul fly away to find my already escaped heart. The piece of my soul was Justin. I was certain.

I don't remember all of the words I spoke to him as I held him. (Oh how I wish he'd have held me in return.)_ Will I ever feel those arms around me again?_ Don't even think like that. He is strong. He is going to make it.

Perhaps I told him "Help's coming".Perhaps said "Don't leave me" or "No. no. Fucking hold on you stubborn shit." Perhaps, I told him "I love you." _Perhaps._

As my world began to evaporate, I barely heard the approaching sirens.

"…terribly sorry…Sir?…cerebral hemorrhaging…everything we can…brutal …non responsive…swelling…brain damage"

The paramedics words' swirled in reality as my mind tried eagerly to pluck at least one from the cloud of disbelief that surrounded me. All attempts failed me.

I could not focus on anything that was being said. Not because I am incapable of comprehension, but because I knew that once I put their words in order, _everything _would change.

I knew it would be tomorrow ( & every day thereafter) forever altered. Here, on _this side_ of tragedy, I was safe. It was still today. He was still dancing in my arms. His smile was still full of _life._

I knew only four words that were the equivalent to everything that the medics had told me..._This is my fault_.

Without providing a chance for protest, I invited myself into the ambulance and took his slender hand into my own. He was _so _cold.

I watched as the woman placed some kind of lead onto Justin's chest (seemingly over his heart). I missed my heart and wondered where it had flown off too.

I bent to kiss him on the forehead, and tasted the iron in his blood. It made my stomach flutter and I worried it too, may leave me.

Before moving aside to let them work, I pulled the scarf from his neck. _I'm so sorry Sunshine. _

As I sit here now (In the most uncomfortable chair I've ever felt. I don't deserve comfort.) listening to the piercing beeps of his monitors and the inflation of his ventilators, I am numb.

This symphony of sadness is deafening.

I'm trying desperately to hear the music we danced to. I'm trying to hear the laughter in his words. In _mine. _It's useless. All I can hear is the horrendous cracking sound as the bat connected with his innocent face. It's echo is pulsating through my mind. That, and that incessant fucking beeping!

I wonder if I was hooked up to one of those machines, 'Would I have a heartbeat?'

'Christ. Justin, I know you're going to hate me. I won't blame you. Now, Wake up so you can tell me as much. _Please_.'

I _need_ to hear his voice again.

'Come on you adorable twat. _Please_. I'd give anything to hear you bombard me with medical facts, or lecture me on my lack of social grace. _Please. _Tell me about something entirely & utterly fucking useless. Something no one in their right mind would give a shit about. _Please.'_

What if he doesn't make…No. Fuck you Kinney. He's going to be _fine. _

Will tomorrow come without _sunshine_? I can honestly say I don't know. I'm still wishing more than anything that it was still _yesterday_.

Yesterday, when he was perfect.

Where do I go from here? What am I supposed to do? You want me to fucking pray?

I will.

'God. I don't know if you can hear me or not. Hell, _sorry_, I feel slightly foolish. I must admit I haven't done this since I was a fucki-, _sorry_, kid. I guess I'm supposed to promise you something. To be honest, I'm not sure I have enough left of me to offer you anything. So here's the deal. You can't have him. Goddam-, _sorry_. What do you need him for anyway? You already have the world. Don't be a selfish prick, _sorry_. I need him.'

My insides are trembling relentlessly.

This is what it feels like to need someone? It's fucking intense. Positively_ unbearable_.

Don't worry Kinney. As long as you don't say it out loud, your heart will never know.


	4. Sunrise over Pittsburg

**Sunrise over Pittsburg **_(After sleeping with Justin for the first time since bashing)_

What the hell was _that_? Whatever it was, I'm thinking I'd like to do it again, and _soon_.

I've imagined this endless times, though I never thought I'd ever get it. I certainly don't deserve it. _Him_, nestled tightly against my chest.

I find myself relishing in his heartbeat and the sound of his breaths. It's the most beautiful sound in the world. He's here. He's safe. _He's alive._

After my sun set too quickly nearly two months ago, I _knew_ I'd never have him again. I _knew_ (as sure as I knew anything) he was better off without me. I _knew _(I knew it in my bones) that I'd never again bask in the warmth of his smile.

I knew nothing.

The little shit never ceases to surprise me.

I can't recall how long I remained in the same uncomfortable seat I took that first night in the hospital. It Could have been three days. It Could have been 3 years. In truth, It seemed to me all time stopped anyway. There was no minute worth counting until he woke up.

I went to visit, well OK so I didn't _exactly _visit. He never knew I was there.

I just had to see him, get irrefutable evidence that he was still there. I don't know, maybe it was the drugs thinking but I was never completely convinced that he wouldn't _vanish_ if I wasn't there to see him with my own eyes.

So, every fucking night I leered at him like a pathetic stalker, too cowardly to announce my presence. How badly I wanted to rush to his side and just touch him. Anyway I could. Trace his lips with my finger, slightly brush my hand through his hair, kiss his cheek. Christ. I just needed to feel him. I never did.

I caught an unbelievable amount of hell from everyone about it too. Believe me. I would just have to endure it when they all yelled at me for never visiting. They didn't need to know that I was already the volunteer night watchman of Allegheny General Hospital. I'm not one to risk an opportunity for a goddamn life evaluating lecture. It was my burden to bear. Alone.

Two weeks into this nightmare, the sun had once again risen over Pittsburg. Justin was awake.

There is no word yet in existence, that could describe the relief I felt that day. Not that he knew. He never would. It may sound crazy but knowing he was awake made me that much more determined to avoid him.

I was more than certain that I couldn't handle looking into his eyes._ Those fucking beautiful eyes. _I was afraid of what I might see.

What if they no longer held love for me? Worse yet, What if they did?

Admittedly it hurt, _really fucking hurt_, each time I was told that Justin had been asking for me. Why? After everything I had done to him, all the ways I had hurt him. Why did he still want to be near me? Stupid kid. I will always be the very last thing that's good for him, health related or otherwise.

Whenever I heard that he'd asked why I hadn't come to visit him, I went to Babylon.

Drugs. Liquor. Sex. Every one of these vices exuded freedom like a beacon in the night. I just wanted to feel free. Release myself from this prison of guilt, pain and even _Pity_.

In general I behave like a drugged out club boy when I want best to numb myself of emotion. This was no exception. I just wanted to drink and fuck my way into oblivion. So why didn't it work this time?

The effects of the drugs & alcohol never lasted long enough to veer my thoughts away from the blond in the hospital bed. No trick satisfied. If anything, each fuck left me feeling even more frustrated. _None of these men were Justin_. No. I can only conclude that perhaps it's because I was already numb to begin with.

My soul is damaged goods.

Though I'm ridiculously elated that he's back with us, (Well not with _me_. He's back where he belongs; in a world untarnished by my disastrous touch) I'm genuinely worried about what he's lost. They say that he has nerve damage in his hand, diminishing his motor skills. Fuck. His beautifully talented hands.

He always appears so brave, but I'm terrified for all that he doesn't say. I want to silence the doubt I'm certain is swirling in his mind. His doubts about his art. I however, have no such doubt. Justin can draw blind folded with one hand and still impress the hell out of me.

I remember the drawing I purchased the night of his first showing. It was so extraordinary. Though it was a sketch of me, I hardly recognized myself. Not because of the quality of the work, but because of the quality of his subject. Justin truly has always seen something in me no one else does. Especially me.

I had finally begun to master the art of avoidance, when he showed up at Woody's the night he was released. Holy shit. I have never been more dumfounded in my life. I was completely thrown off my game. Downright fucking Terrified. In that moment I stopped breathing, and I'm pretty damn sure my heart literally ceased to beat.

That night he told me he couldn't remember the events of prom. The magic of that night I have so often lulled myself to sleep envisioning…twirling him in my arms, kissing him in front of everyone; showing someone besides him for a change that I was content to be beside him…all of it. Gone.

OK, I'll tell you. That really broke my heart. Well, no. I mean, it sure as hell _stung quite a bit_.

Being the intuitive little twat he is, he concluded instantly that I held fully the burden of blame. The sweet asshole even reached out to me & told me it wasn't my fault. _He_ was consoling _me_. Justin Taylor. Truly one of a fucking kind.

After Jennifer told me she didn't want me to see him anymore. I thought , OK someone else realizes I'm the last thing he needs. I actually told her that I cared about him. I know. For me that's a big admittance. She reassured me that she believed me. _I believed me too_. This was a first.

Though I understood completely, this too _stung quite a bit._

Especially after I forced myself to turn him away. He showed up at my door wearing a smile I wanted to lick off his face (slowly) & pleading desperation in eyes. I wanted nothing more than to pull him into the loft and fuck him senseless.

Instead, after proudly informing me that despite his newfound anxiety he had fought (with everything he had) to come and see me. I don't deserve him. I practically slammed the door in his face.

Feeling an emotion I couldn't quite identify, I rested my head on the closed door. I imagined him standing there on the other side. Though just a foot away, that foot felt infinite. I closed my eyes and let out an empty sigh. I could picture him, tears streaming down his beautiful face. As I stood there, forced to ignore my heaven under water, my eyes too, began to rain.

Fuck. What this boy does to me.

It was for the best. I agreed with Jen to exit his life. Of course I know now, that distancing myself from Justin Taylor is a far more difficult task that I had ever intended it to be.

Apparently Justin already knew what Jen & I didn't. This was quickly learned when she told me to "take him". She explained just how bad his anxiety issues were. Helplessly she told me about his nightmares, and his fear to let anyone near him.

I wanted nothing more than to be near him then. Would he let me? The thought of him cringing from my touch made me slightly nauseous.

My worst fear was realized when he cried out a little and indeed, told me to stop. The nausea returned, as did that stubborn _sting._

What do you do when the very thing you want the most is the very thing you can't have? I wanted to hold him. I wanted desperately to repair all that I had broken.

After learning that I could possibly help him to unlock his memories, I needed to try. I had to do _something_. Brian Kinney doesn't do helpless.

Daphne is so great. I'm beginning to think I love her a little. She'd been more than eager to try and help me recreate prom night. Just listening to her retell it from her point of view made me smile. She was right. It had all been so amazing. Sadly, Justin was ultimately unable to share our recreated bliss.

I decided I had to up the ante'. Going back to that parking garage, was more difficult than I'll ever admit. I tried my best to put on my brave mask for Justin's sake. From the moment I exited the jeep, I felt like the wind had been knocked out of me. The echo of that night resounded from ever direction. I felt weak, and a little sick.

Glancing at Justin, I saw that he was lost in thought. Undoubtedly trying to remember something. _Anything_. Though I'm still unsure of how I was able to find the words. I recounted the events with him. He Didn't remember any of it. My insides quaked and I couldn't help feeling a little angry.

I hate myself for the brief bout of fleeting anger. Well, it was more a feeling of resentment I suppose. Either emotion makes me an asshole. Christ. I was just so frustrated. Why did I have to carry the crushing weight of those horrendous memories alone? It wasn't fair.

Fair? It wasn't fair that Justin could no longer draw the way he used to. It wasn't fair that such an outgoing person was now terrified to even go outside. Fair Kinney? I really am an ass.

It's just…_How_ could he not remember something so unforgettable?

I almost completely broke down. I was determined not to let him see me cry. He would feel guilty for causing me to be upset. I know he would. He's Justin.

Backwards as he may be, he's a bleeding heart to the core. Despite my best efforts to remain unscathed, I trembled, and broke my words.

Then he was there. Once again _he_ was consoling _me_.

That damn heart stinging was in full effect.

Despite my best efforts to get him to skip Gus' birthday, he insisted he was going. Who was I to argue? (I can never say no to that cute wrinkled thing he does with his nose.) With the hectic crowd , I thought it best to keep Justin at my side at all times. Yes. I even held his hand. A lot.

After I saw Gus starting to swing that miniature memory, I instinctively tensed. I was both worried and hopeful that perhaps the toy bat would bring something back. My heightened awareness of Justin, allowed me to catch him the moment the memory assaulted him. For _once_, I was there when he needed me.

He had remembered my calling his name. According to him, it's my warning that saved him. I'm not sure how. I didn't stop it from happening. He's treating me like I'm some sort of savior. I'm no hero.

Doesn't this man see that he is constantly saving _me? _Mostly from myself.

After he recounted his brief memory, he kissed me. _Really _kissed me. I'll tell you, I was filled to the brim with 'high school girl giddiness'. I can't help it.

Then he found _it_. I became rigid, but relaxed and let him draw from it, whatever conclusions he would.

I have worn the scarf under my clothes every day since that night. I even sleep with it. Pathetic? Probably. I don't fully understand my own reasoning behind it.

I guess if I had to try and explain it, I'd thrown out something like 'guilt'. Well, maybe 'guilt' isn't the best word.

How about, I didn't think it was fair that only Justin had to be constantly reminded of that night. The thought of him waking up in that goddamn hospital room , everyday, immediately reminded of why he was there made me physically ill. I too would endure a constant recap.

That might not be exactly it either.

I guess maybe a part of it is simply that I wanted him close to me. I was convinced I'd never be near him again. I thought that he would hate me. Perhaps it was my vain attempt to _feel_ him. Have him close to my heart.

Fuck. I don't know. All I do know is that I couldn't face the world without that scarf around me.

I was more than grateful that Justin didn't ask me to explain my reasons. He knows me better than I do.

I just wanted him to be Justin again. I wanted him to let me touch him. I wanted _him_ to want me to.

He did. He _still_ wanted me.

After all that he has gone through, everything he has endured. I honestly don't understand why. Hair of the dog and all of that I suppose.

Though a deep seeded _responsible part _of me protested my getting close to this boy again, the other parts of me told it to 'shut the fuck up'.

His soft pleading whisper inviting me to take him, induced a cold shiver like nothing I've ever felt before. It found it's way to every nerve in my body.

I've never, _never_ wanted anyone more than I did at that moment. ( & I've had more than my share of 'anyones.')

Which brings me back to…

What the hell was _that_? Whatever it was, I'm thinking I'd like to do it again, and _soon_.

That was definitely _NOT _Fucking. It sure as shit wasn't simply sex. Maybe? Was it actually making lo-. Don't finish that sentence Kinney.

No, it was goddamn incredible. Justin was _so _tender, it actually made me ache to be just as gentle in return. I never want to break him again.

I had so many emotions stirring within me, and surprisingly not just in my cock. I know. Pathetic? Perhaps.

So, I guess we both just got a little caught up in the emotional aspect of the past month. The un-fucking-believable feeling of being with each other for the first time in too long.

(I can't help but mention that it is the 'anniversary' _for lack of a less lesbionic word, _of the night I first met Justin. Our first time together_.)_

Of course, that's it.

It was an emotional outpour spawned from prolonged sexual absence. Yeah, that sounds good. It was a fuck, albeit a _tender_ fuck. Just call me 'Dr. spin'.

Christ. Even _I'm_ unconvinced.

Better hide your heart Kinney. Lock that fucker away.

Once you start to love him , you know you'll never stop.

Just a 'tender fuck'.

I wish I could believe me.


	5. The Dead Fags' Society

**The Dead Fags' Society**_ (Brian's 30th Birthday ie. the end of life as he knows it :p)_

It happened. Regardless of my relentless effort to avoid it, it remained u_navoidable_. Despite the absence of rioting on Liberty Ave, meteorites raining from the sky & blood churning within the sea…I feel the Apocalypse is near. I credulously await my world to crumble down around me.

It's my goddamn day. I am perfectly within my rights to 'queen out'. Not that I'll ever admit that or declare so aloud.

I had every intention of drinking and fucking my way through this day; or at the very least, drudge through it with my mind swimming in narcotics.

Once again, those bastards disguised as my friends, set forth to ruin said plans. Sunshine leading the helm.

I was in the middle of a fantastic dream. I was surrounded by eager young queers looking at me hungrily. They gazed upon me with awe & worship. Yes, I know it sounds not unlike another night in Babylon, but this was different. Better. Here, I was only 21 and I was set to remain that way for eternity…

I was hastily summoned from my assortment of sexy followers by the voice of death, well voices. Plural.

Apparently the Grim reaper is low on recruits, because he sent these fuckers as reinforcements.

Granted, I usually enjoy Justin positioned on top of me upon awakening; but today he was the most exasperating blonde in the universe.

Begrudgingly, I allowed them to escort me to my surprise par-_funeral_. A fitting place to mourn the immeasurable loss of my twenties. May they rest in peace.

To further prove my theory that either God doesn't exist, or he's an extremely cruel son of a bitch…

...this day dragged on and on and fucking _on_.

Climbing into that coffin seemed the natural thing to do. What's left? I've lived. Christ, I've lived _hard. _Both figuratively & literally. (I can't help it. I can always amuse myself with childish puns.) I've fucked, sucked or pissed off just about everyone I've ever met. Yes. I think that's enough living.

I don't exactly draw an overwhelming bout of nostalgia when I reflect upon my life. Fuck. My childhood is still something I'm trying to convince myself happened to some other poor asshole. My adulthood hasn't faired much better.

Thirty (I shudder) years of _what? _

I can't even get out of the Pitts. A fact so blatantly proven to me recently when I didn't get that job in New York. Christ. The Ad world is only going to be looking for inexperienced youthful shits who haven't even gotten their feet wet. Me? I'm already fully submerged, drenched. Fuck. I'm practically drowning.

Another thirty years trying to make it? Another thirty years (Face it Kinney) unhappy? Another thirty years (Face it Kinney) _Alone_? No thank you.

Someone kill me now. Wait. Not yet. Let me fuck first. It's always better to _come_ before you _go._

Ugh. I feel a strong shiver throughout my body. _My perfectly toned body. _Right? Right. Of course. Though, I'll be sure to go to the gym more often starting tomorrow. Not that I need to. I just feel I shouldn't deprive those less fortunate a chance to gawk at me. It can give them something to aspire to. Yeah, _this is fine_.

I am admittedly fucking relieved (No, good goddamn ecstatic) to see that my dick is still here. It remains high up & as huge as ever in it's rightful place. I'm still Brian-fucking-Kinney.

OK. Maybe I can find a way to work with this. There are no noticeable differences (unless you count the trepidation alive in my eyes) to my exterior. Yeah, I can continue to convince tricks I'm 29 for a while yet. Yes. No problem.

Let's not forget Kinney you _did_ mange to entice a certain tight assed _high schooler_. I smile. You're goddamn right I did.

Justin's young and he's perfectly satisfied with us. I mean, what? No. Not that there's an _"us". _He still thinks I'm fucking hot. That's all that matters. That's why I let him stick around. I like having someone to amplify my ego periodically. Wow. That sounds perfectly _logical_.

I'm just going to push aside this annoying thought protruding it's way to the surface of my mind. This invasive fucker that's telling me that I don't _particularly_ mind the sound of an _"us." _No. Stay the fuck out of my head asinine thought.

Besides, all the late greats checked out before they could let old age catch up with them. James Dean never let time strip him of his goddamn right to be young forever. Fuck time. Grey & Old? I think not.

OK. Let's give this shit another go. I can manage another year.

I'll always be young. I'll always be beautiful. I'm Brian Kinney for Fuck's sake!


	6. Paradise Lost

**Paradise Lost **_(Morning after Justin walks out of Babylon with Ethan)_

The intoxicating aroma of coffee is generally enough to prepare me for a treacherous day, but not today. As I sit here at the table (I can almost smell his cooking, hear him telling me that eating bacon will not in fact kill me on the spot) I can't bring myself to take even a sip. The warm morning sun is pouring generously into the loft, yet I remain cold.

The massiveness around me still feels too tiny to hold in the abundance of my negative thoughts.

I have been sitting here, starring at the aforementioned cup of Joe for _way_ too fucking long. Staring so intently, I'm not really sure what I am looking for. Perhaps I am hoping for a random outbreak of psychic ability. Hoping that the coffee will operate as a crystal ball (finally letting me in on the joke that has become my life.) My attempts are unrewarded. I am not psychic.

I am forever destined to be only a punch line of my own insecurities. _He walked away. _I am still trying to wrap my head around it. If he was hoping I was going to chase him, it fucking sucks for him. I don't need him. _Yes I do. _

I pour my now cold coffee down the sink. As I watch the caramel colored liquid swirl down the drain, I do not sympathize but _envy_. How I wish I could just fall away, down into nothingness, the dark unknown.

No. I'm _fine. _I'm better than fine. I don't have to worry about Justin influencing my decisions anymore. I'm Brian-fucking-Kinney I can do whatever the fuck I damn well please. Yes. Perfectly _fine_. Never better.

On my way to get dressed I see his damn art supplies. Fuck. He needs to come and get his shit. All of it.

I run my hands across the empty canvas that sits naked and without personality on the chair. My mind is a kaleidoscope of images just imaging what life he would have given this lonely backdrop.

An intense pang hits my heart, of what? Loneliness? I shake the unwanted feeling away.

I have easily become lost in this monstrosity of this house. House. Not a home. _Not without him. _His ghost is suffocating the fuck out of me.

I need to get out of this haunted place. No. screw that. _He_ left. _His_ choice. This was never _his_ home. Fuck him and his fucking fiddler.

How can I miss him, he was never mine. Christ. he never promised me anything. He wanted everything I can't, no, _won't_ give him. I told him from day one I don't do relationships.

I don't think there's anyone in Pittsburg that couldn't tell you my thoughts on love. _Except him. _Fucking love. What the hell is that anyway? _He knows_. Stop it.

I don't love him. I mean, even if I did (which I didn't) I don't anymore. He most certainly no longer feels that way for me. He's made his choice. Good. _Awful._

For the first time in my life, _my entire fucking life _I actually let my guard down. And for what? So Justin Taylor could do exactly what I always knew he would. Hurt me. No. He **didn't** hurt me. _Disappoint _me & make me regret letting him get close.

That'll teach you to let your cock do the thinking Kinney. I should have just let him go after that first night. Instead, I kept listening to a voice inside me that wasn't mine. What the hell did _it _know?

_I_ knew it was an inevitable train wreck. _I knew it. _I should've fucking stopped it.

I'm not even sure how this has happened. I thought he knew how I felt about (and just how is that Kinney?) him. Even though I never said it. I couldn't. I can't. I never will.

Surely he _saw_ it. In my eyes, in my actions.

Surely he _felt_ it. In my kisses, in my touch.

I always assumed he understood me. That he had come to accept me as I am. _You know what they say about assuming. _

No good can ever come out of opening your soul and letting someone peer inside. No. From now on my soul, my heart, (and whatever the fuck else causes these dastardly emotions to invade my life) will be closed ,locked, boarded and chained to the fucking world. _Never again to be freed_.

This only further clarifies what has been reiterated to me since birth…Brian Kinney is both incapable of & undeserving of love.

It takes everything I have to conjure memories of being loved during my lifetime. Certainly not from my parents, I suppose from mikey but that's different. He's _mikey. _Fuck. How could I be so fucking _weak. Justin loved me_, and I loved that he loved me. (So much for that.)

He stopped believing in _me_,(he was my soul believer) in 'us'. What, just because I wouldn't sit on the floor and feed him some goddamn strawberries or some shit? Give him roses & finish his fucking sentences?

How could he just turn his feelings off just like that? Not that I haven't. No. All of my feelings, no matter what they had or have been, have been pushed away. I don't need to be bothered.

He's gone. I don't need this lesbionic shit filling my mind. I have better things to worry about. Like drinking and fucking and _not thinking about _this goddamn aching in chest!

I guess the fiddler is fluent in romance, but I hope sunshine knows that romance does not always coincide with knowing the language of passion. Oh boy, Sunshine and I definitely were honor students in the class of passion.

Ugh, I feel my self stiffen & my pants become tighter. Stop it. He's not available to do as you wish anymore. So? No. I don't wish to do anything. If I see him again it'll be too fucking soon. I can go get any trick I want. I _will_.

I trip over one of his bags.(Littering my life _and my mind _with memories)Fuck. 'You've already left, so why am I stuck facing your betrayal all over my fucking loft?'

Now, now, I _guess_ he _didn't_ really betray me. No promises remember?

I can't help to feel some kind of betrayal. He's the one who made the rules. I've always made my own rules. What the fuck was I thinking, listening to some kid? How did I manage to let him to convince me to not only listen to but AGREE to follow them?

Stupid Brian. I did too, _follow_ them. I found myself wanting to make him happy. I needed him to trust me. Fuck. He had me snowed. I sure as shit never thought he'd be the one to break his own rules. He broke every fucking one.

He played me for a goddamn fool. Never again. He can play his newest victim, like that horrendous instrument of Ian's.

"He's broken his precious rules. How can you not confront him Brian? He was _not _some trick. I'm telling you, as much as it hurts me to do so, Justin's Cheating."

I have replayed Michael's account endless times. I've mostly tried to drown it out with whiskey & beer. It's useless. "He's cheating" still manages to emerge from the depths my muddled mind.

Mikey's right. I couldn't confront him. Why not? Damned if I know.

Perhaps I just didn't give a shit (not true). Perhaps I was afraid (indeed). Huh, I was afraid? I didn't know. Well, OK maybe I did.

I'd known about his 'affair' CHRIST. _I sound like a fucking jealous hetero. _(I shudder) Anyway, I'd known about his 'activities' outside of me for weeks.

So many nights he'd come home and couldn't get his ass in the shower fast enough. It never worked. _He _always remained. The fiddler's mere essence still lingered on every part of the blonde. Especially on his aura, which proclaimed 'guilt'. No amount of soap could wash that away.

At first I tried to pretend everything was the same. _It'll never be the same again._

Then, I tried to retaliate (in true Kinney fashion) with any trick with an eager mouth or willing ass. Though it felt good, it hadn't helped.

Ever present on my mind was the thought of _My Justin _No. Yes. _My Justin _giving himself to that greasy Ian. Granted, he isn't _bad _looking per say. ( I had to see him. I sought him out and I couldn't help feeling a little triumphant as I tossed that $100 into his case. A goddamn street performer sunshine? He was definately not competition. Justin would always come home to me. _If only_.)

Knowing of Justin's trysts hadn't stopped me from wanting him. On the contrary, if possible it made me want him _more_.

Every kiss, every touch, every fuck, I savored. Admittedly I was very nervous that each one would be the last. I'm pathetic.

The night he came in wearing his 'freshly fucked' expression, my _everything_ ached. Why? This boy wasn't my _anything_. No. he could go.

In an attempt to show him what he'd be giving up (_please Justin don't give up_) I grabbed him & kissed him like he was my only source of oxygen.

A wave of confusion assaulted me crudely, knocking the wind from my lungs. What was I doing again? Right, showing this little shit that nothing compares to a 'Kinney Kiss'.

In truth, now, I can admit (never to anyone else, especially Justin) that I was delving into him trying desperately to beg him to stay. A pleading kiss to let him _know _that I _knew _and was giving him a chance to end it. To stop this, whatever the fuck this was, with Ian.

His luscious lips exuded a delicious combination of passion & tenderness in a way only his can. God. I wanted him. No. I was fucking pissed at him. I could smell Ethan (just the thought of his name left my mouth bitter) on him. I felt sick. I couldn't touch him. Hell, I couldn't even look at him.

Fuck you Justin. Why do you have to want the one thing I can't give you? **Fuck you**.

Last night I decided I would rejuvenate my ego, 're-stake my claim' so to speak. I knew it was hateful before I did it. Hey, I've never claimed I _wasn't _an asshole. I ignored that stubborn voice advising me not to go through with it. Again, what the hell did it know?

I made sure that Justin would see me. Fucking rage? The irony was delightful. I was certain it would show him just who the ultimate top fucking was. My determination and sense of achievement quickly ceased when I saw his face. Christ. He was hurt. _Really hurt. _I really am a bastard.

I held his gaze. I put on a mask of 'Control' underneath my literal one. A mask of 'go ahead and go. I couldn't care less'. A mask of 'Challenge'.

Seeing him standing there holding _his_ hand, my chest was stinging again. I starred intensely into the bluest eyes on the goddamn planet. I practically _dared_ those eyes to 'leave me'. Leave Brian-fucking-Kinney? _Fucking riiight_. Wait. Fuck. RIGHT? He left.

I suddenly felt the heat of a hundred stares, all gauging my reaction. I would have NO REACTION. (Regardless of my insides reacting the fuck away!)

He met my eyes once more before he turned and left. Those eyes in which I had so often seen my future, starred back at me with empty time.

I refuse to let this goddamn boy schedule anymore appointments in my mind. The office is closed. The stud of Liberty however, is open for business. I had more than the perfect life _before_ I met _him. _Now that he's 'released me back into the wild' I fully intend on getting pretty fucking wild. Wild indeed. I don't _need_ him. _Yes I do._

I'm trying, _really _trying to ignore it all. I don't care. _Lies. _I care _too_ fucking much & I hate myself for it.

OK, yeah. _Fine_. I'll admit it. Now, this is _only_ between us Kinney. I believe that maybe, perhaps, kind of, _in a way _that that aching sting I'm feeling really is a broken heart. I love that fucking twat. There. Happy? Shut up about it now. Christ.

Brian Kinney doesn't do apologies or regret & I sure as shit don't do _groveling._

He'll realize he's made the wrong choice and he'll return. No worries. Of course there's no guarantee that I'll accept him _even groveling_…who am I kidding? I fucking will. He'll get that fiddler out of his system and then he'll be back. Right? Right.

Ugh. My _everything _is aching again. Fuck. I need to go out.


	7. Savory Savior

**SAVORY SAVIOR** _(The night when Justin & Brian reunite at Vanguard)_

'Holy Shit!' yeah, that about sums it up. Sunshine sure knows how to blindside me **like a fucking freight train. **My mind scrolled through my vast array of masks, though he left no time for me to paste one on. Left no time for me to adjust my body to display my patented 'I don't give a fuck' attitude. He was just _there._ In the one place I was safe. The emotion free sanctuary where I don't have to feel shit I don't want to. My one and only 'Justin free zone'. Vanguard.

I quickly threw reference to my Grammar school language class. I had the 'who', 'where', 'when, and the 'how' (How? This was _him. _He's always making me believe the unbelievable.) I was none too eager to discover the 'what' (the fuck was he doing here?) or the 'why' (was he torturing me?). I guess if I'm honest I knew the answer to both.

I could tell instantly by reading his eyes. _My favorite piece of literature_. He was there for _**me**_. Mr. Taylor gets what Mr. Taylor wants. Ugh, and that "Mr. Kinney" shit that kept falling from his lips made me hard _so fast _it had to be a record. This blonde is going to be the death of me.

I can't say I wasn't (that I'm still not) elated that the mighty fiddler has fallen. That was pretty evident the other night in the backroom of Babylon. I stood there unmoving, just drinking in his face and his smooth deliciously pale skin. I was mesmerized by the way his hips _OH GOD those hips _were thrusting in and out of the nameless trick.

The darkening blue irises melting into my own gaze, told me all I needed to know. He wasn't thinking about Ethan. He wasn't even thinking about the ass currently surrounding his cock. He was thinking about the same thing I was. Us. Together. 'Us' yeah, I can definitely get used to the sound of that. _Kinney you goddamn lesbian._

'_Eternities aren't as long as they used to be' _he told me so matter-of-factly. I almost felt a twinge of _something._ Guilt? Pain? I don't know but I didn't like how easily he'd dismissed it. (_Maybe I want for him to still want an eternity with me.) _Like I said, I don't know.

I am so fucking glad that Ian's promises turned out to be as flimsy as that cheap ring he placed around Justin's finger. It never looked good. **Not there. **Hell, it could've been a diamond encrusted Harry Winston and It _still_ would've tainted his slender hand.

What Kinney? You want to get him a ring from _you_? Fuck. No. _I don't know_. No. No. Fuck No! I'm just relived as shit that his finger's bare again. No longer displaying the smooth metal of my mistake.

Admittedly I sensed a discord in the sickening symphony of Justin and the Ian a while ago; when I saw him drinking alone at Woody's. I can't even begin to describe the emotions I had brewing in me at that moment.

I wanted to yell at him…I wanted to tell him 'I told you so'…I wanted to smack some fucking sense _into _him…I wanted to fuck all of the sense _out_ of him…but mostly I just hated to see him so goddamn sad. Not that I'd have told him that.

I was perfectly fine going back to being on my own. No Justin to rearrange my life. Yes. Perfectly content to drink , snort, smoke, and fuck whatever and whoever I wanted.

My mind flashes briefly to the one time I've ever paid for sex. The trick that I hired to do exactly that. _Trick_ myself into believing the impossible. Stop. Ugh I shake the vision away.

Where was I? Yes, I was perfectly happy…as long as I thought he was happy too. I didn't deserve him.

I tried, _really tried _to keep my composure about the whole situation. He was more than entitled to live his life through his own choices (_I wanted one of those choices to be me)._I tried to make everyone else see that too, especially Mikey. Poor Mikey, but his skinny ass deserved that punch. Fucking right. I'm sorry. No, I'm not. No apologies.

Though, I knew Justin was no longer my responsibility in any way, I couldn't help myself. I still felt the excruciating _need _to provide for him, to continue caring for my sonny boy.

That's why I insisted on paying for school. I lucked out that he's so damn independent. A contract in place really saved me from having to tell him (_with feeling_ -shudder) that I intended to pay for it regardless. 'Business is Business'. _He's my fucking business._

This is also why I gave him so many gracious tips at the diner, and the reason I offered him the poster job for the carnival. He was right. I had unlimited artists at my disposal. However, I didn't care if any of _them_ kept their tight delicious tummies fed, to keep their cargo pants perfectly filled out. I didn't care if any of _them_ could afford new art supplies, or their fucking intoxicating shampoo. No. He was my only option.

No matter how anyone interprets my actions, I tried to help the fucking fiddler too. I know Justin (& Ian though his opinion means abso-fuckin-lute shit to me) believe I was only trying to break them up with the whole contract business. I wasn't.

In honesty, I harbored no malicious intent in my actions (well OK maybe I harbored a _little_.) Mostly, I figured if this was the man lucky enough to have Justin at his side, he should be able to financially support him. _'Justin's expensive' _Jen's words echo in my memory. I smile.

He should at the _very fucking least _be good goddamn proud to have sunshine beside him. There's nothing in this world that could make me pretend that Justin wasn't mine.

Christ. Isn't this some shit? Not too long ago I tried everything I could to let it be known he was **not** connected to me. Never again.

If the musician could give him everything he deserved that I'd refused him, what right did I have to interfere? It was the very least I owed my sunshine. Since I _couldn't_ give him the wine and roses he wanted. I _could_ give him to someone who would.

Of course, I've always known that the wine would eventually grow bitter, and the roses would wilt into a heap of broken dreams on the floor of Ian's shabby apartment.

A part of me wishes I had been wrong. A part of me wanted Justin to find everything he was looking for, everything he was so convinced he needed. Though, a bigger part of me is fucking glad I'm _always _right.

I knew he wasn't completely lost to me when he showed up at the loft with my bracelet. Justin Taylor knight in fucking shining armor strikes again! Christ. My own savory savior.

I'm not going to lie. When my asshole of a nephew showed his true 'Kinney genes', I had never been more scared in my life. A thousand of Ol' jack's punches couldn't match the pain I felt in the pit of my stomach over that. My bitch sister and her fucking brat could've ruined my life. I guess I can't expect much else, seeing as how their cheerleader was the most hypocritical bitch on earth. Saint Joan, my loving mommy dearest. Christ. How did I come from this family?

Thankfully (more thankful than I could ever say) the mess was over before it really began. Thanks to _him. _I hurt him repeatedly, I made him feel worthless and unloved. Yet here he was at my doorstep... per usual. Like a goddamn stray puppy that you feed once and he never goes away. _I didn't want him to go away._

In fact I had wanted him to stay more than ever before. I couldn't take my eyes off of him. So much I wanted to say, but I couldn't find the breath. Hell, I may have not even been breathing. His delicate fingers retied my bracelet around my wrist. Fuck. Just that slight touch of fingertip to pulse point sent me reeling. It was the first _intimate _touch I'd felt in months. Sure, I'd fucked and sucked more than my share, but none of those _felt like that. _None of those touches were _his_.

No more 'little boy lost'. He wanted me back. I was certain. Certainty oozed from his ragged breaths, his shaking hands, and his inability to hold my gaze for too long.

I presented my door as an open invitation. I knew he wouldn't take it (though I had still hoped) but I wanted him to know it was there. That _I_ was there. Yes. I knew then that tonight was on it's way. It's good to _always _be right.

"Mr. Kinney" God, I'm hard now just thinking about it. Seeing him in my office doorway made me downright _giddy. _This was it. Months of waiting, months of hoping, months of dreaming. He was back. Once again he was going to be **mine. **It took every ounce of restraint I had not to reach across the desk and ravish him. This was his moment. This was _him_ coming to _me_. Achingly hard or not, I wanted to relish in it for as long as physically possible.

This little stunt at Vanguard was really something. Something impressive, something so 'kinney-esque'. I'm fucking proud of the little shit. I listened to his words and tried my best to focus on my own part of the conversation. It was difficult to think of anything but tasting his lips as he spoke. My mind and my cock were twitching like a tweaked out twink.

Finally, we were together again. We were 'Us'. We were 'Us' four times in my office, before he came back to loft and we were 'Us' twice more.

Now, I lay here listening to his soft snores, and contented breaths. I realize how quiet my nights were without those soft sounds. How empty the loft was, how big the bed felt. Yes. Justin Taylor knight in fucking shining armor. My savior continues to rescue me.

Saving me from having to watch him with someone else. Saving me from missing his _everything_. Saving me from having to ever tell him I'm so fucking glad he's back.


End file.
